


Bloody Hell, or Should I Say, Bollocks?!

by Thraceadams



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Bottom Derek, Crack, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thraceadams/pseuds/Thraceadams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Stiles writes and reads fanfic and Derek finds out because he rants about the improper usage of slang. Sex ensues and is almost derailed by said slang, but fortunately Derek gets them back on track.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Hell, or Should I Say, Bollocks?!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minxie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/gifts).



> This is for Minxie who ranted the other day on Twitter about this very thing and we shared our pain. This fic was born so we could work out our issues. She also did the beta, any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> EDITED: (Thanks to Bleep0Bleep for use of her disclaimer)
> 
> **This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being shared with or read aloud by the press, or anyone working on said production of Teen Wolf, including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission to share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom.**

**Bloody Hell, Or Should I Say, Bollocks?!**

 

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Stiles slammed the lid of his laptop shut in disgust.

"What now?" Derek asked from his position on Stiles' bed.

"Stupid Britishisms in fanfic from my favorite show. Seriously, they don't wear jumpers, they wear sweaters. They don't eat chips, they eat fries, and they don't park their cars in a car park, it's a damn parking lot. And what the hell is sixth form anyway? And for that matter, we don't fucking wear vests unless we're in a damn three-piece suit. So all those lines about 'shoving his vest up' yeah, totally doesn't work over here. I'm picturing a vest from a suit being shoved up and it's just wrong." He huffed out a frustrated sigh before turning to look at Derek, whose eyebrows were drawn up into a confused frown. "What?"

"Are you even speaking English?"

"No, and that's the damn problem. Some asshole is out there writing fanfic about my favorite show in the entire world and they have my favorite character speaking like he's from Goddamn England!"

Stiles stood up and paced, anything to get his pent up frustration out. "He's a seventeen-year-old American teenager living in California. He doesn't say 'bloody, wanker, chips, shag, loo, or uni'. Don't even get me started on pants versus trousers. And we don't celebrate fucking Boxing Day! I mean, for fuck's sake, it doesn't take much to get the fucking slang right. Haven't any of these people heard of American picking? I have someone Brit pick my damn Harry Potter fic."

"Wait, you write this stuff?" Derek put his book down, took his glasses off and sat forward.

Stiles felt his cheeks heat up and he waved his hand in an attempt to distract Derek. "We're getting off topic here. It's an American show, set in an American town, filled with American teenagers. They don't say shit like that. How is that so hard? Completely ruins the whole story for me. Why do you think I try so hard to get my British shit right? Because I don't want some Brit reading my story and stumbling over a sweater reference when it's supposed to be jumper. Or frowning if I have Ron order fries instead of chips at a restaurant instead of a pub. And vice versa, I mean do they even know what a damn jumper is in American English?" He flung himself back down into his chair.

Derek shook his head, "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Oh my God, you had sisters! A jumper is a pinafore dress. An American teenage boy is NOT going to wear a jumper. Well, you know, unless he's into that thing because he's a cross dresser or genderqueer or something, but that's a whole 'nother story that I’m totally okay with. UGH, it just pisses me off."

"Stiles," Derek said after a few moments.

"What?"

"Come to bed and stop worrying about chips, crisps, jumpers, or bloody hell, even wanking. Let's get to the shagging."

Stiles shot Derek a glare before flinging a pencil at him. "Just for that you're using your hand tonight, buddy."

"Aww, really? Because it's so much better when we get to shag or wank off together. Oh, do they use twat? That's a good Brit word."

"You mock my pain," Stiles pouted but got up and moved toward the bed.

"Come on, I'll let you shag me into the mattress," Derek waggled his eyebrows.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "See? It doesn't even sound as hot. I'd rather hear 'I'll let you fuck me into the mattress.' Now that, I can get behind."

"Actually, it's me that will be getting it behind," Derek chuckled.

"Derek? Shut up."

"Gladly," he leaned in and kissed Stiles.

The two fell back against the bed and Stiles flailed for the light, barely flicking it off without knocking it to the ground. He wrapped his arms back around Derek, nuzzling into his neck, biting at the skin he found there.

"Twat," Derek's voice rumbled.

"Wanker," Stiles retorted, biting Derek's neck in revenge.

Derek laughed. He laughed hard enough that Stiles had to stop kissing his neck.

"You're right, it doesn't work for us," Derek gasped out between breaths.

"See? Pulls you right out." Stiles flopped back down on the bed, mournfully indicating his deflated erection.

"Asshole," Derek whispered, his hand finding Stiles' and linking their fingers together.

"Sourwolf," Stiles replied, a smile curving his lips.

"Bastard." Derek said, kissing behind his ear.

"Swearwolf."

"Tool."

"Keep talking, Languagewolf," Stiles snorted, biting at Derek's collarbone, "And you might just get fucked through the mattress."

"Bring it on, bitch."

Stiles laughed and rolled them, already feeling his erection coming back. "Thank fuck," he muttered.

"Stiles? Shut up and fuck me."

"Whatever, Bossywolf."

 

**The End**


End file.
